Care
by IceCreamSandwich
Summary: He's not trying to force his problems onto anyone, but that's what he ends up doing. And that's what really fixes things for him, in the end. Post 'My Lunch,' Jordan tries to care about what Perry's going through.


**Hello, this is just a little story I couldn't help but write, so I though I'd post it here, just to see what people think of it. **

* * *

Perry and I really aren't the best couple. But we are okay together. So, when he came home one day looking like his best friend died, maybe I should have realized that there was something wrong sooner.

"Hey, Per," I greeted him as he came through the door. He walked right past me without acknowledging my presence. A few seconds later, he sat on the couch beside Jack and me, holding a shot glass and a bottle with about three dozen shot glasses worth of scotch in it.

And of course I didn't notice anything too out of the ordinary about that; I just thought that maybe a favorite patient of his died, or one of his interns stood up to him and got away with it. I didn't consider that there might be any reason to worry.

He poured his drink robotically. Jack watched with wide, silent eyes, old enough to wonder what his father was doing, but too young to really care.

It almost seems as though Jack, in all his two year old glory, noticed that something was different about him before I did.

Well, I noticed something wasn't right, but I didn't think it was anything as big as it was. So, being the loving and caring ex-wife I was, I asked him if anything was wrong.

He didn't reply. Cue the 'something might be really wrong' parade. Maybe his mom wanted to come to town... no, that's impossible. I don't even think his mom is alive.

It's probably the dead patient thing. I should just let him get over it on his own. Which means letting him drink it off. Yeah, I'm the best wife ever. Not.

But I always do what I can, and hope it's enough. Most of the time, with Perry at least, it is. I'm not emotional at all, and the only emotions he is capable of expressing are negative ones. Sometimes I think we deserve each other.

That was not one of those times. Then I just was tired, tired of watching Jack, tired of dealing with Perry, tired of being tired, just tired of life. It may have taken me a while to realize something serious was wrong, but I did. He never realized anything important about me, being the self-centered bastard his is.

His ego is so huge that he doesn't even know how easy it is to read him. He displays his emotions so openly that after a while you stop noticing; you get used to it. So when he sat there, guzzling his scotch like his life depended on it, just begging for someone to notice him, I figured he was just having another of his little inner temper tantrums. I told myself he was being immature, but, really, I was just jealous. How does he get away with being a jerk to everyone, then have people come running when he needs them? How come he can pull off being the little, spoiled, bulling kid that the other kids still admire? Why can't I?

My whole life, I've thought that it was better to keep things inside. I don't dump my problems onto anyone else, or deny that they're there. I just... stay away from it all. I don't deal with anything. I don't show my emotions in any healthy, or even unhealthy way.

That's why I was jealous. He just sat there, his look screaming 'PITY ME' so loud I could practically hear it. Why can he try to drink his problems away, and have people tell him he shouldn't, or try to make him feel better, try to make him stop? Why do people not care about the person who puts a smile every day, or at least wipes away their frown? Why? It's selfish, that's what it is. He's selfish. They're all selfish.

If I can deal with my own problems, then he can, too. I was suddenly angry, angry at him, yes, but mostly angry at myself for becoming who I am. For not being like him.

I almost knocked his stupid glass out of his stupid hand, for trying to get rid of his stupid problems. But I was holding Jack, so I didn't. Also, it would mean I would have shown my emotions, just like him, just like everything I despised. Just like everything I wanted to be.

It was tempting, though. Very tempting.

"Perry, are you sure you're okay?" I asked again, pushing down my raging emotions. It doesn't matter, I tell myself. I should just help him, even if I don't really care, which I don't... he doesn't deserve my caring.

If this were the first time he had acted like this, I would have cared. But I don't want to feed his annoying, attention seeking plan. Not that he planned it. This was just how he dealt with his problems. No big deal. He's not trying to force his problems onto anyone, but that's what he ends up doing. And that what really fixes things for him, in the end, even if he doesn't notice. That's how it happens, every time.

He looked at me, his eyes slightly bloodshot like he was trying not to cry. He swallowed, looked away. Finally, he spoke, staring down at his lap. "I should have known," he whispered. "I could have stopped it."

He wasn't making much sense, and I was still tired. I wasn't in the mood for some great mystery of Perry, like I sometimes am. Still, I stayed, just in case this time was different, and he earned the right for me to care.

I say it like it's some big honor. It's really not.

"It's what killed her," he said, still whispering, like if he talked any louder he might start crying. I looked down at Jack, just to have something to do with my eyes. He was fast asleep. "I should have known," he added.

I put my hand on his shoulder, attempting to comfort him. "What?" I asked, trying to keep it at just the right pitch, not too high or low. There is a chance that he was just being the drunk person he is when he's, you know, drunk. But there's a chance that maybe, just maybe, something horrible happened. Maybe he knew the person who died. And maybe then he had a real reason to be upset. Maybe then I'd approve.

My eyes wandered over to the scotch bottle. It was nearly empty. It occurred to me that he had to be much drunker than I thought he was, and that he might not remember any of this in the morning.

Great. I'm caring, I'm helping, but no one is going to ever know, not even the person I was helping. I felt like I was passing a test I'd fail thousands of times before, and that maybe I should be rewarded, recognized for my achievement. But no one knew that I had even been trying to pass.

"I killed them," he breathed. Then he laughed. Like it was something to laugh about. His laugh was high-pitched and filled with sarcasm, but it was still a laugh.

I scooted closer to him, being careful not to disturb sleeping Jack, and put my arm around him. Because no matter how much it may seem like I don't, I love him, I do. He's just so annoying, that sometimes I find it hard to even care.

I still didn't know what he was talking about, though, and being me, I wanted to find out. I told myself that was why I was sitting with my arm around him, taking the glass out of his hands. And maybe it was. I wasn't sure of anything back then.

I set his almost empty cup on the table out of his reach. "What's wrong, Perry?" I asked for the third time, hoping for a straight answer. I fought to remain neutral. Something could be really wrong, or this could just be a random Perry thing. You can't ever be sure with him.

And, this whole time, I reminded myself that I don't care, even though a big part of me wanted to. Even though a huge part of me did. Because, if I cared, there wouldn't be any reason for me to hide. If I cared, I'd be just like him.

I thought that was what I wanted. I don't know what I want anymore.

Perry's chuckling again, that cold, hard laugh. I tried not to move. "I killed," he tells me matter-of-factly, "three patients."

Oh. I wondered if that was enough for me to care. My head hurt, and I was really tired. I'd deal with it later. "When?" I asked.

"Oh, sometime today." He waved his hand as if discounting it's importance and laughed again. He leaned forward. My arm slid off his back, and I tucked it safely by my side. He grabbed the glass I had just confiscated from him, and filled it with more alcohol.

I felt him sit back against the sofa and sigh. I looked down at Jack, still sleeping peacefully on my lap. When I looked up at him again, he had drained his glass.

With that, it seemed like he was denying my comfort in favor of his stupid, retarded alcohol. So something was wrong; so what? He has his way to deal with things, but I don't. I just push it down, run away. He is actually capable of some things to take care of himself, no matter how twisted or manipulative they are.

I smiled weakly. "I need to put Jack to bed."

--

I sat by Jack as he slept, his small hands curling around his blanket. He really is beautiful when he's sleeping.

Of course, especially if you're me, there is only so long you can stare at a napping toddler. I mean, he didn't snore, roll over, or anything. He just lay there, breathing.

Boring. Yes, I actually can be a completely heartless bitch. Are you surprised? Although, in my defense, I had been staring at him for one whole hour. It was bound to get boring sometime.

I was wondering what exactly Perry was talking about earlier. He mentioned that he killed three people. What, did he stab them? Shoot them? Give them an overdose of medication? The last one did seem most likely; he was a doctor, after all. But what are the odds of him overdosing three people at once?

I put my head in my hands, feeling a horrendous headache coming on. I groaned softly; even though I would have liked to do it much louder, I didn't want to risk attracting Perry's attention or waking Jack up.

There goes the story of my life right there: avoidance. Avoiding Jack, avoiding Perry, avoiding everything. I know it's because I'm afraid of something. I just don't know what that something is, and I'm not sure if I want to find out. Because then I might have to do something about it. Because then I might have to be normal; I might have to be happy.

I am pathetic.

Wait... what sparked all this sudden introspection? Oh, yeah, Perry and his murdering of innocent patients, or whatever. I really did wonder what he had been blabbering about, even if I didn't care (which I didn't), so I grabbed my cell phone out of my pocket, and dialed Sacred Heart, caught between hoping that I got someone who knew anything, or someone I could verbally throttle.

"Hi, you've reached Sacred Heart. We are not in right now so please leave a message after the beep." What the hell?

"It's a hospital, damn it!" I screeched over the phone, still trying to be quiet.

"Oh. Janitor here, how can I help?" the voice said jollily.

I sighed, my will to verbally assault someone waning. I couldn't help thinking of how Perry looked in there, just right past that door. Then I reminded myself to not play into his game. He didn't deserve that. He shouldn't be so selfish.

"Do you know anything about three patients dieing today?" I asked softly. I wasn't even trying to talk quietly anymore, but somehow I was.

"Yeah, these transplant patients got infected by their new organs. People are saying Mean Doctor should have stopped it. And by people, I mean me," the janitor replied.

I hung up the phone without saying goodbye, a custom among us Sullivans. So that was it? A misdiagnoses of some kind or another? I couldn't understand exactly what that idiot on the phone was saying, but that's what it sounded like.

To this day, I still wonder if there was anything that it could have been that would have made me care. It's never really enough. There's always someone hurting worse; you can always say someone was being selfish or dramatic; there is always another situation to compare it to.

So I just let him be, sitting on that couch in the same pitiful position, continually sipping from his shot glass. Before I went to bed, I wrapped a blanket around him. That was all.

It's just too hard to care.

--

The next day, people came and went, all telling Perry that it wasn't too bad, that he could get over it, that they needed him, you know, touchy-feely bullshit like that. Even Kelso came. It was like a goddamn wake.

I stayed out of the way for most of it, but then at the end of it all, I watched DJ show up and have Perry talk to him, something he hadn't done since he disappeared to work, and then was dumped back here an hour later. And after that, he was mysteriously alright. Just like I knew he would be. How unbelievably selfish.

DJ and everyone else easily fell into his 'comfort me, please' trap. Call me paranoid, but on some subconscious level, I think that was his plan all along.

I wonder if he's disappointed that it didn't work on me.


End file.
